


A Friend in Need

by iceprinceofbelair



Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Incorrect Use of Spider Sense, Internalized Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, it's my fic i do what i want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: Peter knows something is up, he just doesn't know what.





	A Friend in Need

While some people might consider foreknowledge of danger to be a helpful skill, Peter finds himself wishing he could shut his spidey sense off at least once a week. It had been bad enough before just dealing with regular old teenage anxiety but now he has Enhanced Anxiety and, honestly, he just really wants to go to sleep. If the damn thing would at least tell him  _ what  _ was happening, that would be something. It reminds him of all those kids shows where characters would tie knots in handkerchiefs to remember something - how the hell was a knot in a handkerchief supposed to remind anybody to pick up their kids from school?

Useless nonsense ability.

He reaches for his phone and squints at the time, groaning into the dark of his bedroom. Feeling resigned, he gets out of bed and throws on his suit. If he’s not going to be getting any sleep any time soon, he may as well make himself useful. To ease his mind, he peers into Aunt May’s bedroom to make sure she’s okay before he climbs out of his window and sets off. 

At first, he has no particular plan. He just has to get out of his room. Perhaps it’s an attempt of self-sabotage (or just a desire to find out what the hell is bugging him) that makes him follow his gut. He makes his way through the city via rooftops, trying to find the source of his anxiety like some kind of surreal bloodhound. Unfortunately, it’s less of a straight line than he would have hoped and he ends up playing a frustrating game of hotter/colder with himself until he’s zigzagged all the way to Brooklyn. 

“This is bullshit,” he grumbles, almost jumping out of his skin when Karen breaks her silence to say “language.”

“God, Karen, you scared the crap outta me,” he says, clutching his chest where his heart is pounding.

“My apologies, Peter,” says Karen and the calm consistency of her tone makes Peter feel a little more at ease. “Can I be of any assistance?”

Peter flops down on the edge of his current rooftop and sighs. “Nah, I think I’m just being paranoid,” he says. “I just feel like something’s up but I don’t know what it is.”

“This is unusual,” Karen supplies helpfully. “Your instincts are not usually so strong at such a distance.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorts, swinging his legs over the side of the building. “Maybe it’s just normal anxiety.”

If this turns out to be nothing more than an ordinary sleepless night, Peter is going to kick himself all the way back to Queens. 

“Hey, Karen? Can you do a quick scan of the immediate area? See if anybody needs help?”

Anything to justify dragging himself out here would be worth it at the moment.

“I’m not sure if this is what you’re looking for, but Captain Rogers appears to be in significant respiratory distress.”

Peter startles himself right over the edge of the roof.

“Cap?” He asks incredulously once he’s stuck himself to the wall just below the gutter. “Show me where.”

A small white square appears just to the bottom left of his vision. He angles himself towards it and starts following it until it leads him to a building on the next block. Peter stations himself outside one of the illuminated windows and peeks inside. Sure enough, there’s freaking Captain America bent over on the couch with his head in his hands, entire body heaving with the effort of breathing. Peter doesn’t waste any time opening the window, raising his hands non-threateningly when Steve jumps to his feet and whirls around, instantly on the defensive. He relaxes minutely when Peter pulls off his mask.

“Peter,” he breathes and Peter can see his hands shaking violently as they cross over his stomach protectively. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

His voice is strong and authoritative even if everything else about him screams otherwise. Peter swallows. When he’d followed that stupid feeling, this really hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. 

“Nothing,” Peter assures him but Steve looks unconvinced, still breathing hard but making a valiant effort to control it. “Just, Karen told me you maybe needed a hand.”

It sounds pathetic to say it out loud, presumptuous even. After all, this is  _ Captain America  _ he’s talking to. It’s not like there’s much Peter can offer that Steve can’t do himself. Steve, bless him, pulls himself up straight and offers Peter a completely unconvincing, wavering smile. 

“I-I’m alright,” he lies. He looks like he’s about to say something else but Peter jumps in before he can give him anymore bullshit.

“Really?” He says, cocking his head innocently to one side. “Because it sure looks like you’re having a panic attack.”

Steve attempts a smile but it does very little to reassure Peter that he’s alright. He doesn’t say anything to the contrary so Peter assumes his guess is correct and tosses his mask aside. 

“You know what triggered it?” He asks, watching Steve slump back down on the couch. He leans back against the cushions and closes his eyes, lips pursed in an attempt to control his breathing. 

“It’s r-really nothing, kid,” he says but he makes no effort to act like he isn’t struggling. Peter supposes he’s focusing all his energy on making sure he doesn’t pass out. 

“Don’t look like nothing,” Peter says with a frown, sitting down carefully next to Steve. He isn’t really aware that he’s moving at all until he sees his own hand rest on top of Steve’s which is clenched into a fist on his thigh. “S’okay. It’ll pass. Y’know I read that your body can’t panic for more than twenty minutes so I guess that’s something.”

Steve huffs out something resembling a laugh and his hand starts to relax under Peter’s. 

“S’gonna be over soon. Y’just gotta keep breathing,” Peter goes on quietly. He remembers when this had happened to him for the first time. He’d really thought he was going to die. “D’you know where you are?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve mutters. “I know it’s safe, I just-”

Peter nods. “I know. Is it the war you’re thinking about?”

Steve swallows and shakes his head. “S’nothing, son. I was just,” he pauses, sounding uncertain. When he does speak again, his voice is small, scared. “Cold.”

And suddenly Peter understands with an overwhelming rush of clarity. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be frozen alive but he imagines it can’t be pleasant and, if he went through something like that, he’d probably have unpleasant memories associated with the cold too. Now that he’s not focused on making sure Steve doesn’t faint, he can’t help but notice that Steve’s apartment is absolutely freezing. 

“Heating shut off?” He asks.

“It always shuts off overnight,” Steve says shakily but Peter is pleased to note that his breathing is much less ragged. “But usually-”

Peter frowns. There’s a steady blush creeping up Steve’s neck and he’s pointedly looking down at his knees, refusing to so much as glance in Peter’s general direction. Peter feels so confused and uncomfortable by the awkwardness in the air that he almost apologises and makes to leave but then Steve clears his throat.

“I’m not usually alone.”

It hits Peter then. Sergeant Barnes. He knew both of them had moved back to Brooklyn but he didn’t know they were living in a one bedroom apartment together. He’d had his suspicions when he’d seen that footage of Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers in the Smithsonian but he’d never dared to hope for a second that he might be right. The thought that actual, literal Captain America might be like him fills him with a comforting sense of warmth and he suddenly feels much more confident than before. He’s a little out of his comfort zone when it comes to helping veterans through panic attacks but he’s absolutely got this part covered. 

“Sergeant Barnes is usually here too, right?” He says, careful to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. “He’s on a mission?”

Steve gives him an uncertain glance, folding his arms across his chest with a shudder. Peter stands up and has a look around, hoping to find a blanket or something to keep Steve warm. 

“Shipped out this morning,” Steve confirms, closing his eyes and breathing steadily. 

Peter heads towards a door which stands ajar on the other side of the open plan living room/kitchen. One glance inside confirms it to be the bedroom. There’s a queen bed under the window sporting a rumpled comforter which Peter snatches up as quickly as he can. He keeps his head down, trying not to invade Steve’s privacy any more than necessary. 

“Bet he’s loads better at this than me,” Peter says, ignoring Steve’s stricken look as he watches him reappear from the bedroom. He throws the comforter round Steve’s shoulders and pulls it tight across his front. “I mean, he’s been frozen too, right? And he’s known you forever. That’s gotta help.”

Unexpectedly, Steve barks out a laugh and Peter smiles at the sound. 

“He certainly knows when I need a cuff round the ear,” Steve says, sounding cautiously fond. 

“My ex-boyfriend was like that,” Peter says and it’s a complete lie - he’s never actually dated anyone - but he hopes he’s right in reading the situation and that this will put Steve somewhat at ease. After all, the guy grew up in the 1930s. Peter can’t blame him for being kinda stressed out about knowing who he shares a bed with. 

As expected, the tense line of Steve’s shoulders softens and it seems like the last of his panic seeps right out of him. When Steve makes no move to say anything, Peter offers him a cheeky smile. 

“Y’know, if you give me ten minutes, I can probably get your heat working,” he says and the look Steve gives him is both surprised and grateful. 

(Privately, Peter feels like the eleven-year-old kid who watched the Avengers take down the Chitauri fleet and publicly declared that one day he was gonna meet Captain America and tell him he was awesome.)

“Just for tonight, y’know? I can probably build something that’ll override the generator’s settings for your apartment without letting on to the building manager but it’ll take a couple of days,” he rambles on but he’s cut off when Steve unexpectedly pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment, he’s frozen in utter shock but he quickly regains himself and wraps his arms around Steve’s back with a soft sigh. 

“Thank you, Peter,” Steve says quietly and Peter can feel the rumble of his voice where their chests are pressed together. “Me and Buck would both really appreciate that.”

“Sure,” Peter says. It’s much easier to think of the man in front of him as  _ Steve  _ right now rather than Captain America. “I guess both of you hate being cold, huh?”

Steve nods, a small smile creeping onto his face. He pulls the blanket tighter around himself and Peter stands up again, pulling on his mask so he can head down to the basement and mess around with the generator. He gets all the way to Steve’s front door before he turns back and gives Steve a mock salute. 

“By the way, Cap? You give, like, the best hugs,” he says and he relishes in the sound of Steve’s genuine laughter all the way down the corridor.


End file.
